What Tangled Webs We Weave
by Madam Malkin
Summary: After Hogwarts, everyone has gone their seperate ways. Ron and Lavender are living in NYC, and dating. You-Know-Who is back, and he's after Ron. There's something important that Lav isn't telling Ron...and it's a decision that may change both their lives


New Page 1 ...What Tangled Webs We Weave 

Part One 

**A/N: This story was written on a strange whim of mine... There is no basic plot so far, so it can go in any direction. Suggestions? Comments? Flames? Please R/R, and if you don't like reviewing, drop me a line at [sunflowerseedgirl@hotmail.com][1]! This was written back in summer 2000, and I only got around to typing and revising it now… Yes, it's slightly primitive, but bear with me. I'll be doing my very best to make this a decent fic!**

_"Say you will say you won't  
Say you'll do what I don't  
Say you're true, say to me c'est la vie" _

_ _

_~ "C'est la Vie", by B*Witched _

Ron Weasley was sitting in a muggle restaurant, waiting for his date to show up. He tapped his foot on the floor impatiently and stared at his watch. Forty minutes late. God, how stupid could Lavender be? Never mind, he thought, I don't want to know. 

"Oof, so sorry, Ron! There was killer traffic, then something went wrong with my car, and my boss wanted to speak to me about something... You're not angry, are you, sweetie?" asked Lavender Brown as she plopped down in the seat across from Ron. She pouted coyly and battered her eyelashes ever so slightly. She was very pretty, and she knew it. She also knew that she could get almost any man she wanted. She decided to keep Ron around for a while; she thought it would be fun to mess with his mind. After all, he amused her greatly. 

"Of course I'm not angry!" simpered Ron. He tried to look her into her eyes, but he kept looking down at two more... interesting objects. Lavender noticed this, and scoffed to herself. 

Typical guy. Ask him what time it is, and he'll think you want to sleep with him. Lavender smiled at the blushing Ron. He was really no exception. 

She motioned for the waiter to come over with their menus. She took a quick peek at the entrees, and then looked back at Ron. He was absorbed in studying his menu, like a priest with a Bible. Lavender raised an eyebrow. You'd think the guy hadn't eaten for a week. 

"So... Ron... How's life?" she asked innocently, looking down at her purse. 

"Great. Everything is just great," he answered her confidently. 

Lav fiddled with the corner of her menu and nodded. Ron wasn't one for intelligent conversations, either. "That's good, Ron. It's nice that everything is going so nicely for you…" 

Ron slammed his crumpled menu down on the table, turning redder by the moment. "Who and I kidding?" he moaned. "Everything is horrible, more of a mess than you could ever imagine!" 

A few passing Muggles turned to stare at him apprehensively, but Ron didn't pay them any attention. He just went on rambling like a crazy man, pulling on his hair and shuddering spastically. 

"I've lost my job, my landlord is about to kick me out of my house, and to top it off, YOU-KNOW-WHO IS AFTER MY BLOOD!" he burst out. A passing waiter looked ready to call security on him. 

Lavender looked at him in mock (but very convincing) amazement. She nodded in what, to Ron, must have seemed like shock and horror. 

Everything is going according to plan, she thought gleefully, her big baby blue eyes conveying only sympathy and despair to onlookers. 

"Oh, Lavender! You're the only person I could ever trust, besides Hermione and Harry… You're my one and only hope! _Please_ help me, somehow! Anyhow!" pleaded Ron, grabbing Lavender's hand. 

"Ron, honey, quiet down. You're scaring the Muggles. Now, you know that I'll be absolutely delighted to help you in any way that I can. You can start by moving in with me, this Saturday," purred Lavender as she twisted her hand out of Ron's grip and checked to see whether her perfectly manicured nails were damaged in any way. She picked up her purse, and stood up. 

Ron smiled gratefully and gave Lav a quick kiss. He grabbed his (rather worn) jacket and rushed out of the building. 

Several seconds later, a very confused waiter staggered over to the table with platefuls of food. He looked at Lavender questioningly, giving her a quick look over while he was at it. He liked what he saw, and grinned widely. Lavender rolled her eyes in disgust and walked out of the warm restaurant and into the biting cold, leaving a very unhappy waiter and fifty dollars' worth of food. 

She smiled again, to herself, this being a much different expression than before. It was a gesture of dark triumph and unfriendly bearing. It stayed there, fixed on her face just like Draco Malfoy's never ending smirk. 

Unknown to all and hidden from public eye, Lavender Brown fingered the Dark Mark upon her left forearm and laughed coldly, her eyes reflecting the ghostly gleam of the streetlights. 

----------*] 

"Yeah, move that box over there," commanded Ron Weasley as the movers unloaded his numerous possessions. He took the liberty of carrying all his magical things himself, but how was he to move the rest? He could've done it the wizard way (it was cheaper and easier), but he didn't want to take any chances. Rumors of flying boxes and furniture appearing out of nowhere would most certainly cause some suspicion. 

The muscle-clad man grunted and dropped the box into a corner, it's contents making an unpleasant _CRACK! as they hit the floor. Ron winced and waved the mover away. He collapsed on Lavender's couch and rubbed his temples. _

_Why me? He thought for the tenth time in the past twenty or so minutes. On the bright side, the men were almost done unloading, and Ron decided to risk unpacking himself – really, if he had one more American ask him if he was really British (followed by a very fake sounding "Fancy a cup of tea?"), he would scream and hex them to death, Muggle or not. _

"We're done!" yelled a gruff voice from the other room, laced with the classic New York accent. Ron sighed once again, and heaved himself up. He trudged into the other room, sweating and red in the face. 

"So… how abouts our pay?" asked a massive man. He looked more like a biker than a mover, and he seemed to be the leader of the pack. He was shorter than most of them, but very… wide. His arms were very muscular, and Ron realized that he could easily knock him out with one punch. 

The other men nodded in agreement, and moved a bit closer to the redhead. Ron edged towards the door, getting ready to run, should they (for some reason) decide to hit him. 

He gave them an apathetic look, and took out his wallet. He handed each man a twenty, coming to the leader last. The tattoo on his right elbow read "Robbie", and Ron assumed that was his name. Robbie stuck out his hand. 

Ron stared down at his shoes and handed him $25. Something caught his eye; a tattoo on the man's forearm… It's wasn't… 

Ronald Weasley blanched, and looked ready to faint. No mistaking the Dark Mark. Robbie grinned, showing a row of shiny gold teeth. 

"Let's go, guys," he commanded to his henchmen. They followed him out the door silently, occasionally glancing back at Ron, or (as the called him), "White Boy". 

----------*] 

"C'mon, baby… You know how much I want to go clubbing!" whined Lavender, playing with a lock of dyed-blonde hair, a seductive twinkle in her blue eyes. 

Ron shook his head worriedly, and cast Lavender a disapproving glance. "How can you think about clubs at a time like this? The Dark Lord knows exactly where I am! He had that man, the mover! What was his name… Robbie, or something of the sort," he blurted out. 

"I guarantee you, there's not a single Death Eater named Robbie," Lavender whispered into his ear, brushing her lips against his cheek. She was telling the truth, too, to her knowledge anyway. She mentally ticked off the list of known Death Eaters. Not one was named Robbie, though there was a Robert Jezkins. Being a short, overweight, fifty-year-old black man, it would have been hard to disguise him as a tough-looking biker. Though Polyjuice Potion was a possibility, it was unlikely – the Dark Lord already suspected Jezkins to be a leak, and therefore ever send him out on such an important mission. 

Besides, what idiotic Death Eater would actually let Ron know that he was a spy? Why didn't her master inform her of this? It was either some sort of plan that she played no major role in, or she was becoming an insufficient source of information. She would have to work harder, then… 

"How can you be so sure?" demanded Ron, interrupting her train of though. 

"What? Oh, about the Death Eaters…" Lavender shrugged. "I just have a feeling, that's all," she lied. 

Ron looked very irritated. "Not that Divination crap again! Lavender, you can feed that crap to someone else." 

"So now you don't believe me?" Lavender stood up and moved away from Ron, her quick temper rising very rapidly, as well as her fear of Ron suspecting her. 

"That's _not_ what I meant," argued Ron, in a much gentler voice than before. He looked truly apologetic. 

Lav sniffled and bit her lip. "You don't trust me, do you? I'm just another dumb bimbo for you, aren't I?" 

"Never!" exclaimed Ron. "I love you for you… mind exclusively." He grinned widely. 

Lavender cracked a small smile. She playfully kicked Ron, who, in turn, started to tickle her. She plopped down on the bed next to him, writhing in his arms and giggling uncontrollably. Ron had a sadistic smile on his face, and wouldn't stop the torture, no matter how much Lavender begged him. 

She tried to slap him slightly, but they ended up in each other's arms, snuggling up together under the covers. Lav carefully pulled down the sleeve of her baggy sweater. 

For some reason, now the sight of the Dark Mark made her feel slightly queasy, a pang of guilt in her stomach. She looked up at Ron again, his brown eyes warm and full of love. Love for _her_. A different sort of feeling was now overpowering her. 

She tried to shake it off, saying to herself that she was the Dark Lord's loyal servant, and that she couldn't love. She would feel no remorse. She would do his bidding, and his bidding only. 

Somehow, though, all those images were far, far away… all that was real was Ron's arms around her, his warm, minty breath on her neck. She lifted her head up and kissed him softly, as she had never kissed him before. This was different, because finally the caring and emotion wasn't one-sided. 

And so she fell asleep, warm and comfortable, in Ron's arms. 

   [1]: mailto:sunflowerseedgirl@hotmail.com



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